It was Frank Allen, who, by his method of preparedness, saved the moment.
The beam of a flashlight shot forward from where he stood beside his bunk, lighting up a small circle, which circle darted here and there, hunting, ferreting out the cause of this noise.
The house still stood to all appearances. A heavy wind howled into the room.
Frank moved quickly to the living room, followed by the other boys, and there they saw that the entire sash of the window on the east had been smashed in, the branches of a tree protruded through the opening into the room, and, driven by the wind, it swung to and fro, the crunching being the weight of the tree against the side of the house.
“Get into your boots, fellows, and get your heavy coats on,” commanded Frank quickly, even as he advanced to light the hanging oil lamp.
The first two matches, flaring up for a moment, bravely trying to hold their own, went out before the onslaught of the stiff breeze that came in past the intruding branches.
The third trial was successful, Frank having learned from the first two experiences what needed to be done to save the match.
The hanging lamp was lighted, and even though the wind raced through, it burned steadily.
“Get the two axes, fellows,” Frank called to his three companions, while he hurried back to the bunk to get his boots and his mackinaw.
Outside, standing at the east side of the house in the front, they saw that a giant white pine tree, a great fellow that had stood waving its branches in many a storm over a period of scores of years, had given way at last to the onslaught of this steady wind.